The Nightingale Sang
by Pippi Poppins
Summary: A fluffy tale of Crowley and Aziraphale. Slash! Rated for mild language and minor suggestive content.(also, to be safe!)Written because there are not enough wedding C/A fics out there. Eventually will contain: fight sequence, a wedding, Them, ducks, a cat, and a certain omnipresent being. Reviews are much appreciated. Title recently changed from The Proposal to The Nightingale Sang
1. The Proposal, or Why Ducks Hate Couples

Crowley looked up across the table. The Angel was talking animatedly about a new(1) book he had gotten, and his hair framed his face with golden curls. Crowley could stare all day... which was new. Only since the Apaco-oops-never-mind(2) has he been able to stare at Aziriphale without mentally kicking himself. Which he took advantage of. Constantly. He also took advantage of the fact that Aziraphale liked kissing as much as he did.

Crowley had fallen in lo- nope, still couldn't say it. He was a demon, after all. Also, he still wasn't sure Aziriphale really felt that way about him. He still remembered the rain in Eden, and the feel of the Angel's gaze on him, and the sinking realization that nothing would ever happen between them. Crowley, for the second time ever, was glad to be wrong.(3) They had been dating for two years, give or take 6000.

Crowley thought about his first kiss. The two had just finished eating a dinner at the Ritz. The Almostpocalypse was over, the angels and demons had gone back to thier respective places, and all was right with the world. Crowley was walking toward his Bently, and Aziriphale had said "My dear,-"

Crowley snapped. Pulling the suprised angel closer, he pressed his mouth into his. The world burst into color, and Crowley gasped against the angel's mouth. Said Angel responded in kind, looping his arms around the demon's neck. Somewhere a nightingale sang, and somewhere else, She looked down and smiled.

And then Crowley remembered. He remembered Falling, the cold and the pain and the awful ripping feeling and...

This couldn't happen to his Angel.

Crowley pulled back, snapped his fingers, and disappeared.

Aziriphale was left staring at nothing, his lips parted, and a distict feeling of loss.

Crowley had a long night, and then another, and then another, and then... His doorbell rang. He opened the door to find Aziraphale with his wings out. "I won't Fall." He whispered kindly, "Because if I was going to, it would have happened when I fell in love with you. Love is no sin, and I do love you. If... you love me?" The angel looked at him expectantly.

The demon stared at his Angel in shock. Tears ran down his face, and he burst out in a flood of longing and confusion and fear. "I-I can't say it, I can't, but I, I feel like I do, but what if I don't? What if demons can't love, what if you Fall, what if...

Aziriphale lited Crowley's chin and wiped away his tears. "I can wait till you say it, even if I wait forever. You can love, and more to the point, you are loved. I'm here, and I will not wait another 6000 years." And he crushed Crowley's lips to his.

The two years passed with smiles and kisses and waking up with a warm body beside him, and reading books, and watering plants, and long drives in the Bentley, and drunken nights of Karaoke... and the Angel didn't Fall, and the demon didn't hurt and, even if the demon couldn't say it, they loved.

Aziraphel's hand on his arm snapped Crowley out of it. "My dear, will you walk with me?"

Crowley frowned. Aziriphale never left without paying. Something was definitely up. "What's this, Angel? Trying to seduce me?"

Aziraphale blushed.

"No, I-I-I, well, I..."

"Relax Azzi(4), I'm joking."

Dating an anxious angel was tough.

The pair got up. They began to walk toward the door, Crowley making everyone they passed spill their wine. Almost unconsciously, his hand tangled with Aziraphale's.

As the two immortals walked through the streets of London, snow began to fall. Normally, demons hate snow, but with Aziriphale's hand in his, Crowley thought he could get used to it.

Aziraphale stopped in front of the duck pond at St. James park. "I want to do this right," he murmured. "Promise you won't laugh?"

Crowley nodded. What was his angel up to now?

Aziraphale got down on one knee. "Antony J. Crowley, I-I have been in love with you for six thousand years. Whatever your answer may be, it will not change this fact. You might be a demon, but you are also kind, and funny and, brave, a-and... My dear, will you... will you marry me?

Crowley froze. This...This couldn't be happening. It must be a dream. Surely the Angel wouldn't even consider marrying a demon. Surely Aziraphale coud do better. But did..

Did...Did Aziraphale love him?

Crowley looked down at the kneeling Angel, with his hopeful eyes and anxious smile. The face as familar as his own, the face he would go to Heaven and back for.

The demon knelt down, eye to eye with his Angel. The sunglasses came off, and, as the yellow eyes stared deep into the bue ones, Antony J. Crowley said, "Yes."

The ducks became slightley miffed with the strangers, as the kiss took a while, and was vey distracting.

1: New being relative. For Aziraphale, new meant anything labeled A.D.

2: Long story.

3: In his defense, beating Lucifer himself was a longshot, so he can be forgiven for that lack of foresight.

4: Aziriphale hates nicknames, but Crowley usually manages to slip one in there.

* * *

**To be continued...**


	2. The Fight, or Why Everyone Needs A Cat

**2 Months Later...**

Crowley walked in the door to an unusual sight. Aziraphale sat, curled up in his favorite blue paisley chair, reading. This was not unusual. What was unusual was that a cat was curled up on his lap. Crowley froze.

The cat said "Meow."

Crowley said(1) "What."

Aziraphale looked up. "My dear, did you remember to invite Them to the wedding?"

"What," said Crowley, "is that?"

"A cat."

"Angel?"

"Yes?"

"What posessed you to get a-a CAT?"

"He was in the park, and just looked so lonely that... Well, I-"

"We are not a fricking(2)animal shelter! You need to-"

The cat walked over and sat on Crowly's feet.

Crowley said "I get to name it."

"Yes, Dear."

"Loki the Undying."

"Fine, dear."

"He sleeps on the couch."

Aziraphale hid a smile.

Crowley plopped down, squishing into Aziraphale's chair. "Look at us, getting all bloody domestic," he said moodily, as he miracled a donut from a passersby into his hand.

The passersby's name was Steve Higgins, and he was rather testy. Mr. Higgens accused his friend of stealing the donut, started a fistfight, which turned into a riot.

"You, my dear, could never be domestic."

"Thanks, Angel," said Crowley, as he leaned down for a kiss.

1: Or rather, yelped.

2: Aziraphale's "delicate sensibilities," as Crowley put it, made proper swears hard to come by.

* * *

Aziriphale woke up to the sound of laughter.

"Well, well, well," sniggered Hastuer, Duke of Hell.

Crowley and Aziraphale had fallen asleep, curled up against each other on the couch. Crowley's arm was over Aziripahale chest, and his breath whispered through his hair. Aziriphale still loved the way Crowley looked when he slept, calm, smooth, and, well...Angelic. Aziriphale promised, that first morning, waking up together, that no-one would ever hurt his demon. He turned to look at Hastuer, leering over them.

"Lover boy won't wake up," said Hastuer. "Demonic Magic."

"Why are you here?"

"Revenge on that wayward demon."

"I won't let you touch him," growled the Angel, standing up.

"Well, you see, I'm not going to. Where is the fun in that? I'm going to kill you, really strike at his heart. Once you're dead, I'll wake him up and recount the way you screamed when the Hellfire touched you. I'll break little 'ol Crawly, not kill him!"

Aziriphale snapped. Summoning his flaming sword, he lunged at the Duke of Hell, who countered with a sweep of his own sword. The fight raged through the bookshop, scattering paper and kicking up dust. Aziraphale was a good swordsman, but he was out of practice, and Hastuer was a Duke of Hell for a reason. The demon reversed his grip on the sword, knocking the angel over. Hastuer lit his claws with Hellfire, and advanced toward his downed opponent. Aziraphale looked at the burnig flame, mesmerized.

"I'm sorry, Crowley, so, so, sorry."

"MEOWWRRR!"

Loki the Undying lunged at Hastuer, claws out. The demon threw the feline aside, the stopped. He looked down at the sword through his chest, flames licking the wound.

"Oh, shit."

The Duke of Hell dissolved.

Crowley dropped the angelic sword, the burns on his hands already visible.

The demon stared at the dust. "Angel, I'm sorr-"

Said Angel's lips hit his, and Hastuer was forgotten.

* * *

"Our wedding..." murmmered Crowley, later that night.

Aziriphale sat up in bed. "Cold feet?"

"No! Just... I can't believe you want a demon, a bad-at-being-a-demon demon, to be your husband."

"I don't want a husband who is a demon. I want a husband who is you. I love you, Crowley, but if you back out, I will kill you.

There was a pause.

"Good night, Angel."

"Good night, my dear."

Loki the Undying curled up on Crowley's head.


End file.
